


Decide

by Trifecta



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancestor-Era, Assassination plot, M/M, Subjugglators
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-29
Updated: 2012-03-29
Packaged: 2017-11-02 16:19:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trifecta/pseuds/Trifecta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows exactly why he's here.</p>
<p>The thought of her brings on a slew of emotions. Through his heart sears the all-too-familiar hatred for the Marquise, pure and black, tinged with the red fire that he cannot supress. Beneath the half-facade of rotting abhorrence, he loves her. He's completely and hoplessly taken by her despite their mutual loathing, and she knows it. She reminds him at every chance given, and it threatens to drive him insane. So before him are three options: he kills her, he dies himself, or they both meet their ends.</p>
<p>Dualscar decides he'll take a gamble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decide

Chapter 1: Doorstep

 

Orphaner Dualscar's not sure exactly what brought him here.

Almost immediately he brushes that thought away.

He knows exactly why he's here.

The thought of her brings on a slew of emotions. Through his heart sears the all-too-familiar hatred for the Marquise, pure and black, tinged with the red fire that he cannot supress. Beneath the half-facade of rotting abhorrence, he loves her. He's completely and hoplessly taken by her despite their mutual loathing, and she knows it. She reminds him at every chance given, and it threatens to drive him insane. So before him are three options: he kills her, he dies himself, or they both meet their ends. Taking the first option would end the constant cuts of enmity, but would leave him more alone than he was before. The second would almost certainly be a humiliating end, an unthinkable surrender, and must be saved for a last resort. The third might just end well for everyone else, but he's not sure he wants to die just yet. He stands before the Grand Highblood's lair, gathering himself with as much courage and dignity as he can muster; in this place, he'll need it. It takes him a rather long time tocome to a decision.

He'll take a gamble.

He steps forward, the heel of his boot sinking into the shallow, damp sand of the port. It's about half an hour's walk, his path, a wet, rocky mountainside that threatens to give out at some places where the stone has cracked just a little too much to earn his trust. When he arrives to the citadel's massive door, he is nearly threatened by it, before he reminds himself that it's a building. It is unnaturally tall and rough, yet exquisitely detailed in the gory carvings of battle glory and jubilee. It is enormous, ancient and tall, as is rumored of the troll himself. There is little comfort to be found in the familiar vast ocean it overlooks; for even its whispers are ominous and its waves painted black as the night. He draws a long breath before pounding the knocker three times precisely. A profound silence follows, and a single beat of his heart takes hours before the door cracks and a rush of music and sounds of merrymaking assaults his ears.

He snaps his gills shut at the stench of bad alcohol, finally looking down to stare into the eyes of a Subjugglator, obviously a ranking subordinate of the Highblood; or at least a very well dressed trainee. He has something in his facial expression that echos that of a woofbeast. It takes Dualscar a moment to place it, but the thousand-mile stare becomes more apparent as he grins at him, bowing slowly, completely graceful in his acrobatic awkwardness, ushering the pirate inside. He walks with him along a red velvet carpet, wet in some places with vomit or spilled drink or God knows what. He follows his receiver's slow lead, his offputting steps that seem on second look a very deliberate dance. He takes time to look around himself, slowly relaxing his gills as he becomes entranced with the rows of jugglers, the dancers, the fire eater in a corner who earns cheers and applause as he spits his scourge out in a large plume, nearly setting a bystander's hair alight. The flames dissepate skyward, leading his eye to the ceiling, so far above his head that he nearly does not register it. From it descends a web of silk scarves and ropes, containing three dozen acrobats at least, each busy flipping or slacklining or spinning in the air, protected only by the integrity of their hold on the material and the scarf's own strength alike. One catches his eye, a slender girl hanging onto a particularly low banner, her legs intertwined in the strong tyrian gossamer, a perfect analog to the deep indigo-violet of her pantalons, the black stripes going down her stockings and making her legs seem ever so much more elegant. Silently, she spins a fan, patterend a swirling half black, half purple, in exquisite patterns in the air. Constantly she repositions herself, not noticing any weight at all from an object nearly as large as she is. He stops in his tracks, entranced, until his receiver has to tug him along. He only has a moment to realize that there was, in fact, no visible ceiling; only an enormous drape suggesting the top of a circus tent, painted sloppily in orange and red. He has little time to ponder this, however, as he comes before the darkened dais. He stops after the usher, who looks directly at him and says in a soft, wrenchy tone of voice, "I trust you have real business with the Highblood, sir." There is a hanging pause as he turns to walk away, grinning a more grave grin than the one he donned before. "Your life depends upon it." He hurries back to the party in the atrium, shooing the Orphaner along with a couple of flips of his hand.

He stays himself as he listens to the usher's quick, erratic steps become softer in the distance. He sucked a quick breath in and pushed on, stepping silently and quickly up onto the dais, maneuvering around an empty throne and making his way to the hallway yawning behind it. He deliberated his steps, silencing them as much as a pirate could, so that his heels gave slight clicking noises as his even steps became slightly faster. There was little to admire in a black hallway such as this, no doors at the sides even suggesting a use for the hallway other than being long. A set of stairs eventually presents itself, and begins to swirl as he walks up, a hand on the wall that was no longer plastered and black, but bare stone. His hand draws back as something colder and wet assaults him. He examines the liquid on his hand, a thick, dark seafaom green. Upon smelling it, its metallic odor gives it away; it's blood, new and wet, but by no means fresh; it is cold to the touch. A stream of moonlight coming in from a window lower down reveals the dim, most vague details of a mural on the wall. It is a gorgeous thing, a scene of clouded moons rising over the horizon, set alight by the early twilight shine of the ocean.He walks more slowly as he ascends, examining the painting as best he can in the awkward lighting. He avoids touching it for fear of ruining it and getting wet blood on his hand. 

"It looks better in the earlier moonlight," murmurs a deep voice from behind him. It sends shivers up Dualscar's spine, and he hesitates to turn around. It's only moments before several torches are lit, illuminating the entire scene and sucking it dry of its glory. It is not something meant to be seen in full light. The Orphaner is frozen, closing his eyes in attempt to collect himself. It proves futile, however, as a powerful hand assaults his shoulder and a booming voice, his ears. The same hand brushes against his flared-out fin and draws away as Dualscar turns to face the Grand Highblood.

"So, what brings such a WELL-DRESSED LITTLE MINNOW to MY NECK OF THE POND?"

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for taking the time to read this! (<3!) This was almost, almost a oneshot. Sorry guys, got too engulfed in this to make it such. Hopefully you'll stay for the rest of the show.  
> -Tifa


End file.
